: : :Tulle: The fool, I purposely don't engage with you because you don't have proper command of the English language.
: :
: : The Fool: It's my English writing. Either way It's okay have a larger vocabulary then you, and a better grasp of language, and you're a woman.
:
: I'm just going to leave this precious struggle nugget right here.

: : :Tulle: The fool, I purposely don't engage with you because you don't have proper command of the English language.
: :
: : The Fool: It's my English writing. Either way It's okay have a larger vocabulary then you, and a better grasp of language, and you're a woman.
:
: I'm just going to leave this precious struggle nugget right here.

I see it as a commentary on the futility of linguistic communication, on the stifling isolation of the modern man, and of his soul-crushing alienation from nature and other people. Crinack is the wall between our understanding and our intuition, it is the wild virtue lost in stifling, rigid forms of communication. It is the wall on which every poet beats, sometimes for an entire lifetime, in the hopes of opening one small crack. Crinack is not a poem. It is the poem.

I see it as a commentary on the futility of linguistic communication, on the stifling isolation of the modern man, and of his soul-crushing alienation from nature and other people. Crinack is the wall between our understanding and our intuition, it is the wild virtue lost in stifling, rigid forms of communication. It is the wall on which every poet beats, sometimes for an entire lifetime, in the hopes of opening one small crack. Crinack is not a poem. It is the poem.

I see it as a commentary on the futility of linguistic communication, on the stifling isolation of the modern man, and of his soul-crushing alienation from nature and other people. Crinack is the wall between our understanding and our intuition, it is the wild virtue lost in stifling, rigid forms of communication. It is the wall on which every poet beats, sometimes for an entire lifetime, in the hopes of opening one small crack. Crinack is not a poem. It is the poem.

f'ing sigged. I died.

: : :Tulle: The fool, I purposely don't engage with you because you don't have proper command of the English language.
: :
: : The Fool: It's my English writing. Either way It's okay have a larger vocabulary then you, and a better grasp of language, and you're a woman.
:
: I'm just going to leave this precious struggle nugget right here.

I see it as a commentary on the futility of linguistic communication, on the stifling isolation of the modern man, and of his soul-crushing alienation from nature and other people. Crinack is the wall between our understanding and our intuition, it is the wild virtue lost in stifling, rigid forms of communication. It is the wall on which every poet beats, sometimes for an entire lifetime, in the hopes of opening one small crack. Crinack is not a poem. It is the poem.

I see it as a commentary on the futility of linguistic communication, on the stifling isolation of the modern man, and of his soul-crushing alienation from nature and other people. Crinack is the wall between our understanding and our intuition, it is the wild virtue lost in stifling, rigid forms of communication. It is the wall on which every poet beats, sometimes for an entire lifetime, in the hopes of opening one small crack. Crinack is not a poem. It is the poem.